He got to his feet slowly. “I want you to fix some coffee and food for my men, and then we’ll be on our way. You do as you’re told, and you’ll be safe as long as I’m alive. If anything happens to me, you’ll be on your own, because these men seldom know their pleasure, and it’s going to take some doing to keep them off of you as it is…”
“Oh, how gallant!” she mocked him. “How wonderful you are. The brave Union Captain Travis Coltrane…ready to defend the honor of the flower of womanhood. I’m touched. Really I am.” She scrambled to her feet to glare at him, lips curling back as though ready to strike and kill.
He stepped closer, and she moved backward with him walking slowly toward. her, until there was no place to run. Her back was against the wall, and she continued to look at him with defiance, even though her body was shaking uncontrollably. Suddenly he reached out and grabbed her into his arms. It was a pure instinctive action—something he could no longer help. “I never said you were the flower of womanhood, princess, but let’s find out…”
He could smell the fragrance of the pine needles that clung to her hair, feel the teasing suppleness of her body. Anger, mixed with frustration, made him suddenly cruel. Wrapping his fingers in her hair to pull her head back, he covered her mouth with his hungrily. For a moment, she was rigid, not fighting back, but then her teeth clamped down viciously on his tongue, which he had forced between her lips.
“You bitch!” He jerked back, tasting blood, and he brought his hand up to strike her, but the look she was giving him—the way she all but turned her cheek up to receive his blow, made him regain his control. She wanted him to hit her—wanted to put him on the same level as that murdering Luke Tate. Hell, she probably wanted him to rape her. She probably wanted it as much as he did—only she wanted to protect her so-called virtue and say she had been forced. Well, he had known plenty of women, and to his credit, not one of them had ever made him resort to taking what he wanted by force. Oh, no, he knew how to make a woman writhe and moan in his arms, begging him to take her over and over again. His back had been bloodied by frenzied, raking nails too many times by the throes of the ecstasy he produced in his women, for him to ever stoop to force.
Suddenly calm, he smiled that crooked, taunting smirk that Kitty already hated. “I’m afraid you failed the test, princess. Any flower of womanhood you might have possessed has long been plucked from the stem. Now get the hell over to that fire and get some food going for my men before I forget I’m a gentleman…and an officer…and give you the beating you deserve!”
She turned away, not knowing who she hated more at the moment—Captain Coltrane…or herself! Why did her knees feel so weak and watery, and why was her heart pounding? And what was the peculiar tremor she felt in her loins? Surely her own body would not betray her. Every time Luke Tate had ravished her, she had reacted with a wave of nausea and revulsion…never like this…so it could not be purely physical. She could not actually want that…that animal! She had never felt this way except when Nathan had held her and kissed her, and even then, it had been a controlled emotion, one that did not leave her trembling where she stood!
It was hatred! That’s what it was. She had only thought she hated Luke Tate, but that feeling was nothing compared to the raw nerves that were making her whole being convulse in great waves of shuddering. Despicable! Travis Coltrane was a Yankee—a murdering, blood-thirsty Yankee who heaped war upon her people—no better than Luke Tate and the men he had killed yesterday.
She reached for the slab of bacon that hung on a rope by the fireplace, turning slightly to see where he had gone. Her eyes met his steely-blue gaze beneath lowered lashes. He stood with thumbs hooked in his belt, his feet spread apart. And he was smiling. That damned, insolent smile that made her livid with indignant rage.
He wanted her. She knew he did. Well, she could play his little game. He thought he was too good for the likes of a Southern woman who’d been raped by a low-life hoodlum. Now, if he insisted on holding her prisoner and taking her with him, she would make him pay—and pay dearly. After all, she was a woman, she reminded herself, and men found her appealing and attractive. She would make the conceited, arrogant Yankee officer bend to her will, grovel with desire at her feet. And then she would laugh in his face.
Smiling, she turned and held out a hand to him. “If you trust me with a knife, sir, I’ll slice this bacon to fry for your soldiers.”
With a move so lightning quick she barely saw his arm move, he had whipped out a bowie knife and sent it slicing through the air to land with a sharp thud in the wall only inches from her head. Eyes mocking, lips taunting, he said, “I find nothing in you to fear, princess. When the day comes that I do…God pity me…and God help the Northern cause!”
Then start praying, you arrogant bastard, she thought silently, slicing at the greasy side of meat with a vengeance, attacking it with the sharp knife. Get down on your knees and pray!
Chapter Sixteen
They had not ridden far after leaving the area where the cabin was situated before shots rang out from the woods alongside the zigzagging road. “Take cover,” Coltrane yelled, grabbing his rifle and leaping from his horse. Kitty was on the horse directly behind him, and when he turned to pull her from the saddle, he saw that she had already dismounted and taken cover behind the trunk of a large oak tree.
Kitty pressed herself against the rough bark, her heart pounding furiously. She’d come too far to be killed now, she thought in a frenzy, and she prayed that Coltrane and his men would be shot, so she could be freed.
There were more shots zinging through the air, but she was puzzled to notice that Coltrane’s men were not all firing. It didn’t take long for her to realize why—suddenly shouts came from the weeds and thickets beyond, and then three of the Yankee soldiers were marching forward triumphantly, prodding two farmers with the ends of their rifles.
“Goddamned settlers,” one of the soldiers cursed, shoving the old man in front of him to the ground.
“Bishop, watch it!” Travis barked, stepping from his cover. “These people don’t know what’s going on around here. Hell, they’ve never been out of the mountains…”
The old man was scrambling to his feet, dusting off his clothes. There was no mow here, and the ground was dry. “Don’t need to leave the mountains to know Yankees ain’t got no business here. Now you git off my property.”
Travis had walked up to him, and now he circled the two prisoners, eyeing them critically. “You two live close by?” He directed his questions to the younger man, who looked to be in his late twenties. He nodded an answer. “Then take us there.”
“You ain’t got no business…”
The soldier called Bishop rammed the butt of his carbine into the old man’s stomach, and he clutched himself, moaning in pain, doubling over. This time Coltrane did not intervene.
“Just take us to your cabin. We want to see what you’ve got in the way of ammunition and food supplies. Then we’ll be on our way. You’ve nothing to fear if you cooperate.”
Kitty followed then doggedly, and they walked the horses through the thicket until they came to a clearing. A small, but neat-looking cabin sat beneath sprawling elms that were just beginning to bud to life. A lop-eared hound lying on the porch eyed them suspiciously but made no move.
“Is anyone inside?” Travis asked.
The younger one answered that they had families inside—three small children and their wives.
“Tell them to come out and throw down any guns they’ve got in there,” he ordered.
The women appeared on the porch, looking frightened as they clung together with the children peering out wide-eyed from behind their long muslin skirts. One of the women was about the age of the old man, short and fat. The other was young and tidy, and she might have been pretty, had she not looked so worn-out and haggard from the hard life of a mountain woman.
Travis stood back with Kitty as his men made a thorough search of the house and reported back that th
e ammunition they’d found was not enough to worry about. There was a cow, some chickens, and the mule was skin and bones and looked diseased.
“Hell, run them chickens down,” Bishop said, almost angrily, from where he sat on his horse. “We can eat them for supper. I’m damn tired of that shit in our knapsacks. And butcher that cow, too.”
The young woman on the porch ran down the steps toward them, waving her arms above her head as tears streamed down her pale cheeks. “Please, God, don’t kill our cow and take our chickens. They’re all we’ve got left, we’re starving. We barely made it through the winter, and if you take all we have left, we’ll starve before plantin’ time. Please…”
She was yanking at Bishop’s leg, pleading, and Kitty’s heart went out to her. Then she saw that Bishop was bringing up his rifle butt, about to send it crashing down into her face. Travis made a move, but Kitty was closer. Throwing herself from her horse, she lunged for him, the two of them falling from the horse’s back and onto the ground.
Stunned, Bishop quickly realized what had happened, and he fastened his stubby fingers about her throat and began shaking her and cursing. Travis stepped up and sent his booted foot into his side with such force that he rolled away, groaning painfully. He reached down to grab Kitty by her shoulders and yank her to her feet,
“Are you all right?” he asked in a tone that Kitty thought sounded as though he really didn’t care one way or another. She didn’t answer him.
He gave her a shove toward the sobbing woman. “You get inside and change clothes with her…”
“But this is the only dress I own,” the other cried, backing away and wrapping her arms about herself. “I ain’t got nothin’ else.”
“You’ll have the clothes this young lady is wearing. Now do as I say or I’ll have my men take your cow and chickens.” He gave Kitty a shove toward the woman’s retreating movements.
“Why are you doing this?” she flashed at him angrily. “Why are you tormenting that poor woman? And you know these clothes I’ve got on are more suitable for riding than a dress.”
“I happen to like dresses, princess.” He gave her that mocking smile that set her teeth grinding. “Women belong in dresses, not baggy trousers like a man. Now move.”
“I’ll wear what I damn well please!” She was so mad she was shaking, and she kept her fists clenched at her sides, afraid if she did what she was aching to do, a rifle butt would come crashing down on her head! “No man tells me how to dress. I’ve worn trousers all my life! I will not steal that woman’s dress!”
With one quick movement he leaned over and gathered the front of her shirt in his hand, then ripped downward. Her naked breasts tumbled forth. The soldiers were watching, and a delighted gasp went up, as she threw her arms across her chest and backed away, humiliated and terrified of what was about to happen.
Pointing his finger at her, eyes blazing straight into hers menacingly, he said slowly and evenly, “Get yourself into that house and put on that woman’s dress, or by God, you’ll ride naked from here on!”
She had no choice but to clutch herself and run for the cabin as the men’s laughter echoed in her ears. Tears stung her eyes, but she bit them back. Never would Travis Coltrane make her cry! Never! No matter what he did! No. If anyone cried, it would be him—when she plunged a knife into his back one day…or shot him…or something…but she would have her revenge! This, she swore.
The young woman held out her dress to Kitty, but she looked as though she pitied her, rather than being angry over having to give up her dress. “I don’t really want it, you know,” Kitty felt compelled to say. “And he tore the shirt I’m to give to you. I’m sorry.”
“You a Yankee?” Curious eyes flicked over her.
Kitty bristled indignantly. “Certainly not. I’m their prisoner. I wish your menfolk had killed them so I could go free.”
“Where you headin’?” Kitty thought she sounded positively wistful, and this was puzzling.
“I don’t know. I heard them say something about joining General Grant. He’s a Yankee. He’s somewhere near the Mississippi border, wherever that is. I don’t even know where we are. But if anyone comes by here asking questions, you tell them what I told you. You tell them Kitty Wright is being held a prisoner by them…I’m from Goldsboro, North Carolina, and I was kidnapped by a man named Luke Tate last summer. Now you remember this, because I have a Confederate fiancé that may be out searching for me.”
She stopped talking and stared incredulously at the woman before her. She looked as though she were swaying. “Are…are you all right?”
“You’re gonna think I’m crazy, Miss Wright, but it sounds so excitin’. I’m not but nineteen, and I’ve already had three babies and ‘spectin’ another. A baby a year for me, but you, you’re beautiful, and that man out there…the one givin’ orders. Gawd, he’s handsome. I don’t think I’ve ever seen a man that pretty.”
Kitty shook herself. She, herself, had been raised on a farm, and there’d been times when socials and fun seemed like a distant thing. But never had she thought it would be exciting to be held prisoner by a band of men, no matter how good looking one of them happened to be.
She struggled into the dress. It was tight, especially across the bosom. The other girl had smaller breasts, and this neckline was even lower than the one she’d worn to the Collins barbecue, which seemed a hundred years ago. “Why is it so low?” Kitty asked out loud.
“I told Tom that’s what I wanted for Christmas—a real, honest-to-goodness, lady’s dress like they say the women wear to parties in Nashville. And he went all the way to Nashville and bought it for me. Then I found out I was in the family way, so I wouldn’t have been wearing it much longer, anyways,” she finished lamely.
It was a cheap dress of poor quality, Kitty thought, but it had meant everything to the wistful-looking young woman in front of her. Impulsively, she reached out and hugged her. “I’m sorry, truly I am. Good luck to you, and I hope you don’t have any more Yankees passing by.”
“If I weren’t gonna have a baby, maybe someone would up and carry me off,” she called gaily, but Kitty was already out the door and walking toward the lean-to kitchen, with the girl running along beside her.
She glanced about the sparsely furnished room. “Where do you keep your knives?” This was her chance. Hide a knife in the folds of her skirt…wait until the right time and plunge it into Travis Coltrane’s back and make her getaway. It was the only hope she had.
The girl looked at her with widening, frightened eyes. “Don’t just stand there,” Kitty whispered frantically. “They’ll come looking for me soon. Tell me where there’s a knife.”
He seemed to fill the doorway as he stepped forward, eyes mocking, lips taunting. “Now, princess, what would a lady, in an appealing dress like you’re wearing, want with a nasty, dirty knife? It isn’t feminine.”
She picked up a piece of crockery sitting on the round wooden table and sent it sailing through the air to smash against the wall, just where his head had been before he ducked. He advanced toward her, and she reached for other dishes, throwing them. One hit and bounced off, breaking on the floor, and still he came. There were no more dishes…no place to run…and he towered over her, reaching out to wrap strong hands around her thin wrists, pressing them against her side as he pulled her body forward, her heaving breasts rubbing against the coarse woolen jacket he wore.
She could feel the heat of his breath on her face, see the way his nostrils flared as his eyes probed into hers.
And then his face was coming down, his lips bruising, crushing. Just as her knees turned to water, and the strange quivering in her loins began, he flung her away from him, so quickly, so forcefully, that she had to fight to regain her balance and not sprawl to the floor.
“Now get out there and get on that horse!” He spoke in the same harsh tone he used with his men. “And try to remember you’re a lady, and you’re a nurse for the Union army. Don’t you Southern ladies have
any breeding at all?”
The taunting smile was back, and she whirled to run from the lean-to kitchen, through the cabin, out the front door, and stumble across the yard. The tears were stinging and she tasted blood as she bit down on her quivering lips to keep them back. He wasn’t going to make her cry. Damn him! Damn him to hell! He would never make her cry! Damn him for keeping her prisoner and damn him for making her feel emotions that only Nathan had the right to create.
Her face was pressed into the horse’s neck. Suddenly she felt hands wrapping around her bottom and swinging her upward and sideways, onto the saddle. Travis didn’t smile as he said, “I’ve had about all I intend to take from you for one day, Kitty.”
Doggedly, she dug her heels into the horse’s flanks and followed the men deeper into the woods. She heard Travis saying something to someone about how they shouldn’t have been traveling in the daylight hours. The snipers could have killed someone. She found herself wishing he’d been the one to get hit, as she glared at his back.
They reached the seclusion of a foliage-concealed ravine. The horses were led off to graze, and the others built a small campfire. Travis signaled to Kitty to prepare some sort of meal, which she silently did, aware that all eyes were upon her, watching every move she made.
Kitty hated the dress. What right did the conceited Yankee officer have to force her to wear it? The clothes she’d been forced to discard were far more comfortable. Right away, it was easy to see that Travis Coltrane was one of those pig-headed men who believed a woman belonged in skirts, sitting at home and sewing and weaving and having a baby every year. And such men infuriated her to no end! Nathan was a lot like that, causing much tension between them. But finally, when he had left for the war, it seemed that he had accepted her, reluctantly, for the person she was—not what social decorum proclaimed she should be.
Love and War: The Coltrane Saga, Book 1 Page 19